


Rogue Tranquil

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan AU [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Formerly Tranquil Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Rite of Tranquility, Solas is Fen'Harel, Tranquil Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: Cullen has seen a nightmare come to life; he could not save Lyna in time and she has been made Tranquil by the Red Templars despite the fact that she is no mage. The Rite took more from her, and the cure will not work.And he must watch, helpless, as Solas unleashes a fury that he never expected from the humble hedge mage.





	Rogue Tranquil

Never in his lifetime with the Templars had Cullen Heard of the Rite of Tranquility being performed on someone without magical ability. In truth, he’d never thought about the possibility or what effect it could have on the person. It had never occurred to him to wonder what would be taken from a non-mage by the lyrium brand, if they would lost more than their ability to dream and their emotions. To his knowledge, it had never been attempted before.

Yet there she was, an archer with an affinity for picking locks and no magical ability beyond the Anchor in her hand, with the Chantry’s sun branded into her forehead. He vomited upon seeing her, upon comprehending the atrocity she had been subjected to. He had spent days tracking her, the Inquisitor, his friend, to this Red Templar encampment in Emprise du Lion. He had thought that they would torture her, try to break her so that she would obey the whims of Corypheus. He had expected to walk in to see his friend stretched out on a rack, or worse. He had never thought that they might attempt to break her resistance and strong spirit in another way.

Her other friends were right beside him, had been right beside him as he and Leliana searched for her. Solas was in a fury the likes of which Cullen had never seen, annihilating everything in sight, not just killing them but punishing them, leaving them in agony on the ground as they died slowly. Across the hall, three demons were swiftly becoming little more than pincushions, filled with arrows from Sera and Varric until nothing remained but sticky goo and dozens of feathered flights. Iron Bull had two Grey Warden mages, some of those few still under Corypheus’s control, hacked into three pieces each, his giant axe working the head off a third with quick strikes. Cassandra and Blackwall were shouting their fury as they advanced on a pair of archers who were desperately shooting arrows at them, all of which glanced off their shields. The arches died swiftly. Dorian and Vivienne were fighting back to back, tears streaming silently down both their faces as they worked in tandem to keep barriers up and set floor traps for Red Templars who attempted to flee from their fury. Cole was everywhere, slashing here and there, providing openings for the others to take advantage of. And Cullen was facing down their leader, a giant brute of a man who wore the thick gloves needed to handle the lyrium brand. He unleashed his fury on the man, dodging blows from his great sword, until he knocked the man unconscious with his shield. He left him alive but unconscious, as much as it pained him to do so; they needed answers.

Everything was quiet for a few moments after that, no sound but harsh breathing and the crackling of flames. Then Solas’s staff clattered to the ground as he rushed to the center of the room where Inquisitor Lyna Lavellan sat primly on a little stool, blinking slowly. A spray of blood from the fallen marred her face, turned her white hair pink, but she didn’t move to wipe it away. She didn’t move at all except to breathe and blink.

Solas fell to his knees before her and the others gathered around, all of them desperate to see her jump to her feet and demand to know what had taken them so long as she wrapped her arms around each of them in turn. But she did not. She didn’t even make eye contact. Solas smoothed his hands over her face, wiping away the blood and brushing back her hair, but her eyes did not focus on him. He muttered in elven and summoned magic into his hands, but when the light died down the sun burned onto her forehead remained. He captured her chin in a shaking hand and coaxed her to meet his gaze.

“Vhenan?” he whispered, his voice ruined by emotion as she finally met his eyes. “Vhenan, say something!” But she did not. She seemed uncomprehending of anything around her.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen tried to say, taking a step forward. Her eyes moved to him without recognition, without that flash of humor. He could hear her voice in his memory; _Why, Cullen, you look like you’ve been dragged out the ass end of a dragon!_ But she said nothing at all.

“Inky?” Sera squeaked, intense fear in her voice. When Cole materialized at her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her, she did not shy away like she normally would, shaken enough to lean against the spirit. Vivienne covered her mouth with her hand, tears still sliding silently down her face. Cassandra fought not to sob as the rest of them held silent vigil.

“Vhenan,” Solas breathed again. “Please, speak to me.” Her eyes met his again. Her mouth opened, and Cullen held his breath, hoping against hope, against all reason, that she would still be herself.

“Do I know you?” she asked softly, no inflection or emotion in her voice at all. And he was crushed under her words.

And Solas shattered. A moment of breathless emptiness, a void in the world, was followed by his scream and the force of all his power. He yelled up to the crumbling ceiling in agony as his magic exploded through the room and all of them were thrown backwards. Bull hit the wall hard enough to crack it, landing with a grunt, but most of them were knocked over and slid back without hitting anything. Cullen struggled vainly to sit up through the torrent of energy, wondering where Solas had been hiding that much raw power. Though Solas rarely grew exhausted by continuous spellcasting, Cullen had never known how much power the elf truly had in him until it was all released in a rush. Even without his lyrium, his Templar training should have told him something, given him some hint as to the extent of the mage’s strength, but he had noticed nothing. A quick glance around the room revealed that they were all shocked at this display of raw magic, even the other mages and especially Cassandra.

When Solas finally ran out of breath to scream, the continuous torrent of energy that had flattened them all to the floor let up slightly. It still felt to Cullen like the very air was heavier, conspiring to crush him, and power pulsed through the room dangerously, like the beat of an enormous drum at the edges of his perception, but he could fight through it to stand.

Solas had his hands on either side of Lyna’s face, his forehead pressed against hers. Cullen couldn’t see his face but he suspected from the slight hitching in the mage’s breaths that he was crying. Lyna did not move, did not touch him or react at all. She had been unaffected by the display of magic, the eye of the storm, and she had no reaction to seeing her former lover lash out with all his power.

“Not you,” Solas groaned. He seemed to have forgotten that anyone else existed, even as they all pulled themselves to their feet cautiously and struggled against the insistent press of his magic. “Not you, vhenan. You are unique, you have a rare and marvelous spirit, and you have shown me truth I dared not see before. Do not say that you have been taken from me, as well. Please. Come back to me, vhenan. Ar lath ma. That will never change.” Cullen considered attempting to approach Solas, to pry him away from her or to comfort him, but he dared not risk it with the man’s power still beating on his eardrums. He could have killed them all with that display and Cullen was wary of him, wondering what else he might be hiding.

“Do I know you?” Lyna asked again after long moments and Solas let loose a sub, burying his face in her shoulder. Cullen saw her eyes as they lifted to him and shuddered; they were dead, glassy. Lyna was gone, even as she spoke. “You mentioned Inquisitor,” she said softly, without inflection. “They mentioned her. She is not here.” Cullen wanted to laugh and cry and scream at her words. No, the Inquisitor wasn’t here anymore. Solas sobbed harder.

“The cure,” Cassandra whispered suddenly, breaking the quiet despair of the room. “The cure for Tranquility.” Solas turned to her and she flinched under his gaze, making Cullen wonder what his face looked like; Cassandra had probably never flinched before in her life.

“What is it?” Solas asked, his voice sharp and commanding, completely unlike himself. Cassandra glanced around the room and nodded.

“I can make it,” she announced, then immediately set to work finding what she needed in the ruined chamber. She called out instructions to the others as she did, telling them what to look for and what needed to be done. Even Cullen ended up scurrying about at her bidding. Only Solas stayed where he was, caressing Lyna’s face and singing softly to her in elven. No one said a word to him or tried to make him move. Cullen noticed that Vivienne kept glancing at him with fear on her face and was put even more on edge; if the Iron Lady was afraid, everyone should run. Yet Cullen knew that they wouldn’t get far if Solas wanted to stop them, the slow drumming of his power and the weight in the air reminding him that Solas still had power to spare even after that display.

With all of them working together, the cure was ready after two hours of work. In that whole time, Lyna did not move a single muscle except to blink and Solas remained kneeling in front of her, his hands on her face, his voice growing hoarse from singing to her continuously, his voice surprisingly fine as he sang lullabies and love songs and even what seemed to be dirges one after another until Cassandra finally announced that it was ready.

“I need to press this poultice to her forehead and recite the incantation,” she told Solas softly. It seemed to take a long time for her words to reach him, as if he heard her from underwater and far away. Finally, he let his hands drop and moved slightly to the side, barely enough to allow the Seeker to reach Lyna. It was all she would get and she knew that, so she reached over him and pressed the dripping poultice to the brand on Lyna’s face.

“Close your eyes, vhenan, so it does not drip into them,” Solas murmured. Lyna promptly closed her eyes, not resisting them at all, perfectly obedient and unquestioning. Cullen thought he might vomit again; Lyna was many wonderful things, but obedient had never been one of them.

Cassandra recited the incantation as Solas held Lyna’s hand tightly in both of his and the rest of them held their breath, waiting. Finally it was done and a bright flash of light followed the final word, temporarily blinding Cullen. The poultice was removed from Lyna’s face and they all peered at the revealed skin in fear and hope.

The brand remained. Sera fell to her knees, Varric sobbed, Vivienne hugged her herself, Dorian and Bull held each other, Blackwall hid his face in his hands, and Cole flickered here and there without really being anywhere at all. Cullen felt numb, disbelieving, and nauseous like he might be going into shock.

“What went wrong?” Solas barked at Cassandra, who was staring at the brand, dumbfounded.

“Nothing!” she cried. “I am certain that I did everything right! I made no mistakes. It must be… It must be because she isn’t a mage. The Rite has had different effects on her than it does on mages and the cure won’t work.”

Solas shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on the emotionless gaze of his former lover, the woman whom he clearly still loved. “No,” he whispered, shock and denial bubbling just beneath the surface. The pounding of his power grew louder, faster, more insistent, until Cullen wanted to hold his hands over his ears and scream to drown it out. “No, I will save you,” he whispered to Lyna. “No matter what it costs me, you will be whole.” She merely blinked at him.

His power surged again and Cullen found himself flat on his back once more, though this time he had no memory of how he’d gotten there. He struggled to sit up and was surprised when he managed it. The howl of a wounded animal sounded throughout the ruins, loud and feral and so close it must have been right on top of him. When Cullen managed to focus on his surroundings, blinking away the dizziness, he nearly screamed. A giant black wolf with six ruby eyes stood where Solas had been, as tall at the shoulder as Cullen was. Its forelegs were more like a bear’s than a wolf’s, built to tear into its enemies and rip them to shreds. Its black fur shifted and curled in the air like smoke. Its muzzle was lifted to the sky, that incredible howl being released from its throat. The air trembled all around them, the room shaking as the wolf continued to howl long past when Cullen expected it to run out of air.

Finally, the sound tapered off and the wolf sucked in a breath, seeming to draw all the air in the room into its lungs until Cullen fought for breath, transfixed and unable to move as he watched. The beast shoved its snout in Lyna’s face and she didn’t even flinch. Cullen wanted to call out to her, get her away, but he realized that the paralysis he’d been feeling wasn’t just shock; magic had frozen him in place until all he could do was blink. He could not help her. But the wolf did not attack. It breathed out against her face, a long breath that shimmered green and enveloped her form completely.

When it was finished, the wolf stood there in breathless agony, waiting. Lyna blinked, then blinked again. Her body began to tremble, then shake, and she blinked rapidly as though clearing dust from her eyes. She sighed, and then she whimpered, and then she frowned. And then she screamed.

Cullen watched, trapped, enthralled, as the dark mist of the wolf’s fur slowly dissipated to reveal Solas standing before Lyna. She screamed and screamed, her wide, terrified gaze staring through him as if she could not see. She ran out of breath and inhaled shakily but did not resume her screaming. She raised a shaking hand to her face and touched the middle of her forehead where the brand had been. It was gone now, only smooth skin left behind, unblemished. She closed her eyes and exhaled in relief.

“Solas?” she whispered, looking up at him as he stood before her. He immediately sank to his knees and laid his head in her lap, trembling. She rested a trembling hand on his head, the other clenching around his shoulder. “Fen’Harel,” she breathed, looking shocked. He raised his head to meet her gaze.

“And now you know,” he murmured, sounding tortured. “What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you?” She shivered, but her gaze remained boldly locked on his. Cullen wished he could see Solas’s face.

“And so he did,” she whispered mournfully. “This is what you were hiding. This is why you left me, why you kept trying to turn me away. Isn’t it?”

Solas hesitated for only a moment. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “I thought to spare you this, knowing who I was, who I am, what I’ve done…”

“What did you do?” she asked intently, frowning in confusion. “I know you, Solas, despite your attempts to the contrary. And I will not, I _cannot_ believe that you are what my people say. You are no harellan, no matter how the stories paint you. So what did happen?”

“I rebelled against those who would call themselves our gods though they were only mortals who destroyed us to feed their lust for power and worship,” Solas told her softly. “I fought a war to free my people from slavery and I made a mistake that all but doomed the world.” They were quiet then, simply looking at each other, and Cullen tried to understand what was happening. He had heard only a little about the gods the Dalish worshipped, just enough to know that Fen’Harel was supposedly a trickster and traitor, who walked the Fade and turned good people down dark paths. Yet Lyna was addressing Solas as though he was that creature of myth? What had Cullen missed in this exchange? He had seen the wolf with his own eyes, true enough, but how could Solas, a hedge mage whom Leliana had carefully interrogated before allowing him to join the Inquisition, be an ancient Dalish god? It didn’t make sense.

“My timetable has been moved forward, ahead of my initial plans,” Solas said at last. He sounded calm, but they both looked tense. “This incident has revealed far more than I ever planned to.”

“Thank you, vhenan,” she murmured, and Cullen saw the shiver that traveled up Solas’s spine. “Thank you for freeing me from that cage.”

“I would do it again, if I had to,” he admitted in a low voice. “I only hope it will not be necessary.”

“As do I,” she replied, voice shaking. She took a deep breath and centered herself. “If you are leaving, I am coming with you,” she told him with conviction. He shivered again and shook his head.

“I walk the din’an shiral,” he rebuffed, though Cullen had no idea what the words meant. He sounded grave. “I would not have you see what I become.”

“You cannot make this choice for me, Solas,” she told him, her voice hard and certain, the voice of the Inquisitor. It finally sank into Cullen’s shock-addled mind that she was truly herself again, brought back by whatever strange magic Solas had employed. “I _will_ come with you. I _will_ have the truth from you. And then I will make _my own_ choice. You will _not_ turn me away so easily.” He ran trembling fingers over her bare cheek where purple branches once stretched over her skin, and she leaned into his touch.

“I have never been able to turn you away,” he murmured, sorrow in his tone. Cullen wished again that he could see the mage’s face. “Not easily, at the very least.”

“Then stop trying, Solas,” she urged with a small smile. “I _will_ have the truth from you or I will hunt you across all Thedas until I find you again and force it out of you. Don’t you think I am _owed_ the truth, if nothing else?” They were silent, still locked in a battle of wills, for long moments. Cullen saw the moment that Lyna knew she had won because her lips curled up just the tiniest bit. He had no idea how they argued while silent, but it seemed that they did because Solas sighed heavily.

“Yes,” he whispered at last. “I owe you that.” He stood, though his whole body trembled, and held his hand out to her. She took it and stood, somehow steadier than Solas. “What of the Inquisition? What of Corypheus?” Cullen wanted to ask that, as well. How could she abandon the Inquisition?

“I never wanted to be Inquisitor,” she reminded Solas. “I never wanted to be the Herald of Andraste, or of anyone. The Inquisition can continue without me. And I somehow doubt that I will be alone when I do catch up to Corypheus.” She gave him a knowing smile and he folded her in his embrace, his face in her hair. She smiled blissfully as she held him.

“Ar lath ma,” he whispered brokenly as he finally pulled back. She gifted him with a brilliant smile.

“I know,” she said softly. “I love you, too.” She pressed her hand to his cheek and he leaned into it. Cullen was in shock, unable to believe that they would simply leave, that the Inquisitor would abandon the Inquisition. Did she hate it that much? “Show me your secrets, Fen’Harel,” she whispered, smiling. Solas took her hand and squeezed it.

“They are yours, as I am,” he whispered reverently.

Lyna looked around the room, hesitating. For some reason, she didn’t seem surprised to find that all of her friends and companions were frozen in various stages of standing. Cullen found that quite odd. “Farewell,” she told them. “At least for now. I make no promises about the future.” Her eyes met Cullen’s and she smiled slightly. “It isn’t your fault,” she said with conviction. “I make this choice because I want something different, not because I hate the Inquisition.” Her words mirrored his thought so closely that he was almost afraid she could read his mind. “In fact, I have never had better friends. But this is a choice that I must make. Continue without me, restoring peace and fighting the demons. I will continue my work, as well. Rifts will continue to be sealed and Corypheus will be defeated. Farewell, all of you.” And then, hand in hand with Solas, she left. She walked out of the ruins and out of his life.

The paralysis persisted for another hour. Finally, Cullen was freed from the spell all at once and he bounded to his feet. The others a step behind him, he raced to the entrance and searched for tracks, some sign of the par who had walked this way not long ago. He found none, the snow of the Emprise smooth and unbroken by footprints though no new snow fell. Lyna and Solas had vanished.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE COMPLETELY REWRITTEN THIS. IT IS STILL THE SAME STORY WITH THE SAME PLOT BUT MUCH BETTER WRITTEN.
> 
> Sixteen hour shifts when you've had three hours of sleep are definitely the right time to write angst!
> 
> The angst won't leave me alone...
> 
> I don't know, I just thought to myself, "What would happen to someone with no magical ability who underwent the Rite of Tranquility?" And came up with this as an answer.
> 
> In case it isn't clear, more than her emotions were taken. Tranquil mages retain their memories even though they can no longer understand the emotions behind them. "I remember being fond of animals. I don't remember why." But Lyna lost more than that. She essentially got wiped clean, all experiential memories gone in addition to her emotions. Just so we're clear.


End file.
